


What's In a Name

by Keaton Collective (Creeper_Keaton)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: A thank you to subscribers, And faced with choices, Clones being subjugated, F/M, Post-Series, Reflecting on past trauma, The importance of Names, While Hordak does his best to help, With sad histories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creeper_Keaton/pseuds/Keaton%20Collective
Summary: As we have blown past 50 subscribers for of Etheria, I wanted to drop a quick thank you fic!As the Princess Alliance argues about what to call their new clone inhabitants, Hordak feels a deep stirring of irritation at their actions.
Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 143





	What's In a Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cruelfeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelfeline/gifts).



> This may get updated alongside of Etheria as we hit milestone markers, as I certainly have more content that could easily be added.
> 
> This story is nervously dedicated to Cruelfeline, since I definitely use a lot of their musings when bouncing ideas around for behaviour and response. Not nearly as in-depth or accurate, but still something.
> 
> Written while listening to One Foot In Front of the Other by Emilie Autumn. Maybe not perfectly suited, but wonderfully inspiring. Maybe give it a listen if you liked the story :).

“I totally think one should be Pearl, because, like, that is definitely the best Mer-Mystery book, so…”

“Oh, oh, what about something  _ nature-y _ !? And relaxing! Flowers are relaxing!”

Hordak stared down at the busywork in front of him, willing his hands to steady so he could attach the pieces. Entrapta fidgeted beside him, effortlessly slotting together some masterpiece while he struggled to create- a _ nything. _

Only part of this was due to their differences in skill. While he was certainly no slouch, Entrapta was a certified genius. The other part of his poor workmanship, however…

The group of clones clustered together, blinking owlishly at the flock of princesses and general folk surrounding them. Their faces ranged from carefully blank to vulnerably blank, and it set his teeth on edge.

“How about we name one Sparkles?”

“That’s Glimmer’s nickname, we can’t use that. Arrow!”

“Uh, guys, Pearl is still the best option.”

“One shall be Adventure, and we shall cross the mighty seas together!”

“Flower-”

“Garnet-”

“Pearl!”

“That is  **_enough_ ** !”

Entrapta’s shocked squeak and the clatter of her screwdriver made him realize just how loud he had been, and he drew back from the table, ears flicking back ( _in shame? Was this shame he felt, at scaring Entrapta, at the stares of the other princesses in the room?_ ). And stare they did, along with Bow, as he carefully avoided their eyes. Instead he focused on pulling his clenched fists from the deep indents in the table.

He took a deep breath, and then another, trying to find a calm place within himself. The occupants of the room shuffled, awkwardly looking between him and Entrapta, pressed against his side. It was her gentle touch that brought him out of the deepness that was his mind. Her hand curled into his, trying to loosen the death clutch of his fist. As his hand eased open, she ran soothing fingers over the divots left in his palms from his sharp claws.

He tried to rise from his seat, noting the flinch from the princesses, the cautious shuffling of the clones. Entrapta gently squeezed his hand, her eyes full of concern. She didn’t try to stop him, for which he was thankful, instead slightly following after him as he made to leave the room. But she did squeeze his hand again, trying to catch his attention. She pulled herself slightly higher, never releasing his hand and never moving directly in front of him. The implication was clear; if he needed to leave, he was free to do so, but she had something to say first.

“Hordak,” she smiled up at him, just a tiny tilt at the corners of her mouth, and he felt his chest ease a bit. “We talked about this. If you need to talk, then you are allowed to talk. It’s okay if you need to say something. You’re free to speak.”

He looked at her, dragging his thumb over her knuckles in thanks. It was a foreign concept, this freedom. Freedom to live with Entrapta in Dryll, freedom to choose his own clothing. But the freedom to his own thoughts and words was still the hardest to adapt to, even after all the years he had spent in numbing silence. For the clones, freshly ripped from that hivemind, the freedom was unfathomable. But it was a courtesy they deserved, and until they found a voice of their own, perhaps he could lend his. He squared his shoulders and turned to face the crowd.

“They are not yours to name.”

More than one person gaped at him, before Mermista placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. “What do you mean by that, exactly?” Entrapta squeezed his hand again, and he bolstered on with her encouragement.

“The clones. They are not yours.” He turned his head to fix a glower on her directly, scowling. “They are not your ‘Pearl’. They do not  _ belong _ to you. And it is their choice to choose a name. Not yours.”

Mermista opened her mouth, all offence, and he beat her to the punch with a hiss. “You treat them as some sort of pet, interesting to you now. But what of after? When you have given them a name and set them loose on the world? Will you be there the first time their name is said in fear? When an Etherian looks at a clone and sees my face, demands retribution? Will you be there to call their name when they are lost? No! Of course you will not! Because you will have had your fun, burdening them with a name. And then, when you are sick of coddling them, you will abandon them.”

“Okay, you have  _ no _ evidence of all that-!”

“So you will stand by them? Tell me, without lying, that you would do it.”

Mermista stared him down for longer than he thought before she backed down with a ferocious frown. He felt victorious, which in itself might have been wrong. This wasn’t something to celebrate. But they needed to understand. This was not some litter of puppies to be named for novelty. They were individuals, just as he was, and just as broken.

He moved his attention to the nearest clone, walking over to stand in front of him with military precision. The clone snapped into a mirrored pose. It was what they were trained to respond to, after all.

“Tell me, Brother. How many Revelations have you Walked?”

“Ah- I have basked in Prime’s Light for 4 Revelations, O Exalted Brother!”

Bow made a noise, looking between Hordak and the clone. “Wait, so, he’s only 4 years old!?”

Hordak laughed, dry and oddly strangled. “Oh no, you are mistaken. A Revelation is not equivalent to your Etherian year. It was a measurement of passing on Prime’s ship. The ship’s gravity was maintained by a spinning ring. The ship's gravitational ring would make a full pass, and once its shadow cleared the bridge, it would bathe the room in the light of the stars. Prime would call to us, have us attend to him, remind us of his glory. **That** was a Revelation." He pressed his lips together, mentally counting as he attempted to convert the numbers.  "If I had to guess... One Revelation would be approximately 20 Etherian days. My Brother here would have been approximately 80 days old when Prime fell. Born for the war, expendable."

The room was silent as those words were digested. Only the clones looked unaffected, still as passive and timid as they had been when the whole debacle had begun. Hordak looked over the small group, frowning slightly.

He was not a leader. Never truly. He had done what was needed to survive, and if people had fallen in line with his goals, then all the better to achieve them. But to truly lead? That had always been Prime’s honour. Anything he did was a cheap imitation, constructed to return to the true ruler's side.

But, perhaps now… even a cheap imitation was better than the vast emptiness of nothing.

“Brothers. Look at me.” His voice was gentler than he was used to using, especially in front of the Alliance. But Entrapta had taught him that gentle could be okay. It was not a weakness. “We are no longer One Entity. We are no longer-” he gave a weak smile to the clone he had directly spoken to, noting the way the clone jumped at his attentions, “expendable. And I am not Exalted, and I am not Horde Prime.”

The clones murmured to themselves, shuffling as a group. If anything they looked more nervous at his words, and he wondered if he was making a mistake. They had lost their home, their purpose. Was he right to fill their heads with hopes of names, when they spent their lives as nothing more than a number? All while snatching away whatever puppeteering threads remained of the Law of Prime? Was he overstepping, even if he was trying to break them from their past abuse? ( _It was a funny word, abuse. Entrapta had told him that he had been abused, but it was still hard to associate the word with his past. Still so hard to name)._ But he remembered his fall, his first days so very alone. If he didn't try, he was condemning them to the pain he suffered.

“I fell to this planet during my 26th Revelation. I thought myself valuable in my considerable time by Prime’s side. I thought I would be welcomed back. I was not. But during my fall, I… I created my own worth. I gave myself a name, a life. We are our own people now. And as I gave myself a name, it is your duty to find yours.” There was some nervousness still, but some of the clones were starting to perk up, at the very least attentive instead of desolate. Wrong Hordak- _and_ _ hopefully he would find a name  _ **_sooner_ ** _ rather than  _ **_later_ ** \- was flitting amongst them, whispering words of encouragement. Entrapta gave his hand a tight squeeze and he smiled down at her, feeling humbled by the look on her face. She looked proud. Of  _ him _ .

He forged on, more confident.

"I am nothing more than a defective clone. A failure, by any evaluation. But I am also Hordak. It took me many years to accept my own name. I do not wish to step into Horde Prime's role, to pass a new Law of Prime. I am no exalted clone, and I do not stand before you with commands. I only implore you to see yourself as individuals. To become your _own_ Ones. Learn of this world, and learn of yourselves." He felt a fragile smile cross his face as the clones started to look about, finally looking just slightly less like lost children.  “Brothers, it is time we stepped from Prime’s shadow and found our _own_ light.” And in full view of them all, Alliance and Horde alike, he raised Entrapta’s hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. She smiled up at him, eyes sparkling and face full of such warmth and, dare he say it, _love_.

She was what his entire self was made for, not Prime. She was the reason he still lived, and the reason he would continue living, one foot in front of the other foot.

She was his guiding light in dark times.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the quick read, and thank you so, so much for the support of my other works. It truly means a lot. This is probably the most popular pairing I have written for, and it's a unique feeling to have so many people reading it. Terrifying, don't get me wrong, but wonderful all the same.
> 
> It feels vaguely out of character to have Hordak so chatty, but then I remember his dramatic retelling of his clone backstory, and I do think he would make speeches. Perhaps jagged, broken things, but the passion would be there.
> 
> As always, thank you, cheers, and stay safe out there folks.


End file.
